


Like water

by digimo0n



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Ben is sad, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Rey is sad, Swim swim drown drown, Water metaphors cos im a pisces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:05:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22309114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/digimo0n/pseuds/digimo0n
Summary: On days like this, she breathes him into existence. Her eyes are not her own, her footsteps walk with his, and she can feel his blood as it pulses through her. Her tongue escapes to wet her lips and she swallows like she has something in her throat, and she does this all day, and she knows that none of these moments belong to her.Force bond moments between Rey and Ben.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Kylo Ren/Ben Solo
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Like water

Like water, this thing slips into every crevice and pour, and around every corner and wall and surface of her mind, down into her throat and veins and lungs, and decidedly threatening to consume everything that belongs to her. This thing, which is— _him, her—_ their unspeakable bond, seems to multiple and expand every day.

_Take it back_ , she spits into space, imagining the words as they take form, catch fire and soar across the galaxy, ready to strike down his hateful, black heart.

_Aim true,_ was his quiet reply.

*****

Like water, this thing ebbs and flows. There is a pattern, she realises, but she cannot figure out the rhyme or reason. On days like this, she breathes him into existence. Her eyes are not her own, her footsteps walk with his, and she can feel his blood as it pulses through her. Her tongue escapes to wet her lips and she swallows like she has something in her throat, and she does this all day, and she knows that none of these moments belong to her.

She’s alone, cleaning her gun when her fingers start to thrum. They slip from the metal and pulse. Her breath falters. Something is happening. One moment she’s sitting at the workbench, under a dry dark sky, thick and humid air wrapped around her, and the next she’s thrown, on her hands and knees, choking.

She spits water, again and again and again, until the pressure in her belly subsides. She falls onto her back, catches her breath, and bores into the dark sky above. Which sky covers him? It’s some time before she can move, and when she finally stands, she’s soaking wet.

*****

On her better days, when this aching pulse becomes a dull throb, she can thrive. It’s always there, in the back of her mind, buried under rocks and rocks and rocks, crushed by her own sheer will. She’s unburdened, legs running, hands wrapped around a sabre, and a laugh that belongs only to her.

_This is mine,_ she says.

If he chooses to respond, she doesn’t hear it.

*****

She stretches, arms above her head, back arched. A stone gargoyle, the focal point at which her eyes rest upon, frames the door of an abandoned church. It seems to mock her, with its missing teeth, gauged eyes and chipped form. Rays of sunlight spill through the wooden blinds, illuminating parts of the church steeped in dust and floating particles.

Her heart is calm this dry morning, when she changes positions, and leans forward to stretch the back of her thigh. Her breathing is even, steady. She feels solid, grounded; something which evades her often. She thinks, _this will be one of my better days, the days that belong to me._

And in one devastating moment, violence ripples through her serenity and she falls with the change. Today’s ebb and flow felt more like being shot, and she knows he’s there. She can see his boots from her peripheral. She steadies herself on the ground, dizzy and lost.

_I learned how to quiet you,_ she says, but mostly to herself.

She had learned, through training, through practice, how to keep him below the surface. After his master’s demise, she’d expected this thing to die with him, and while their physical visits had dissolved, the connection hadn’t.

_It’s changing._

His voice makes her sick with rage. Emotions are the one thing she can never suppress, always present, always vibrant, but even on her weakest days, they rarely sound words to each other anymore.

She pushes her fist into the ground and screams. Blood rushes into her mouth, did she bite her tongue?

_No. It’s me._

_Get out of my head_ , she hisses.

_The harder you go against the tide, the more you will struggle._

She pushes her forehead into the ground, feeling sand, eyes clenched shut. She imagines the island, the pit, she imagines plunging below the surface of its dark waters and screaming into the abyss. Finally, she’s submerged and alone.

It’s almost peace, until the water changes around her, particles coming together to take the form of a body. He shifts into existence, floating underwater, and for the first time in months, they come face to face.

_Leave me alone_ , she screams.

His eyes narrow. _I’m not doing this. You are._

She realises they’re both inside her imagination, drowning in her mind. Somehow, he reaches through the water and grabs her wrist. She struggles against him, but he yanks her up and they break the surface.

She thrashes to the edge of the pool and hoists herself out, falling on her back. Despite none of this being real, she gasps for air. The cave around her seems to glitter, and sitting on a high perch, she can see the stone gargoyle from the church, mocking her still.

He stays in the water.

_I don’t understand,_ she says, still speaking to his mind. _He’s dead, your master—_ she spits disgust— _and we’re still connected._

_He lied. He didn’t do this._ His voice is hollow, words bouncing off the cave walls, penetrating something like marrow.

_The force,_ she confirms something she had once suspected. It wants them connected, but to what end?

_The end,_ he clarifies.

He slips back under the surface of the water, disappearing.

When she finally sits up, she’s back in the abandoned church: wet, exhausted, hollow.

She reels, and finds the steady beat of their connection inside her mind, within her breath and stomach, in her veins and fingertips and beneath her feet.

She knows.

Only death could separate them, and maybe not even then.

**Author's Note:**

> (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ
> 
> hope u guys liked this!  
> i'm going through all my old writings and found this one written in 2017. i have some newer stuff written but i need to psyche myself up because it's been a while since i've published anything lol. i took like a four year hiatus from writing and developed some kind of weird fear of putting my work into the ether to be judged, but i'm working through it.
> 
> oki bye.


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